It was a hot summer day. The sky was clear blue. All I could see was blue. I saw a plane. I, saw, a plane. Oh wow! I had stopped noticing them, and hearing them. What happened?
I had been through a hard time for seven years. My life was defined by my trial. I could barely get out of bed most days, let alone look at the sky. I was happy just to make it through a day or a week. I had stopped enjoying the beauty of the sky, and had stopped seeing and hearing planes.
I have always been fascinated with airplanes. They give me hope. Someone in those planes is going somewhere. They are accomplishing something. When I hear a plane pass by I envision where it is going. Are they headed to St. Louis? Maybe Kansas City? This one is high. They might be headed toward Atlanta and then on to another country.
I know it sounds crazy, but to me there is something calming about watching a plane cross the sky on a clear day. To hear it’s echo from my front room makes my heart soar. I might not be where I want to be, but someone is going somewhere. There is hope.
When I stop looking for planes, and stop hearing them, then I know something is wrong. I am probably too focused on my problems, and myself. When I can’t lift my head up high enough to see a plane than I am looking down at the wrong thing. When I can’t hear the echo of a plane’s engine than I am listening to voices that lie and taunt me.
I haven’t been able to see or hear planes for a while. I stopped writing, dreaming, and creating. My ideas died with me. Yet I have to move on. I have to write. I have to dream and I have to create. I may not feel any passion for what I am doing, but the more I do it the more I am able to look up. The more I can see and hear planes.